Chapter 5 – Proving Grounds

How have the mighty fallen,

And the weapons of war perished!

2 Samuel 1:27

Zoo Puppies

The approaching night sky was painted an ominous red by the twin suns as they crested the horizon. The wind whipped sand across the desolate landscape, slapping at Wade’s exposed skin. They were doubled timed to the edge of the camp where two instructors stood on each side of the gate. They weren’t wearing armor but they were shouldering plasma rifles. It looked a little too casual to Wade but he shrugged it off in order to stay focused. A large sign high above the massive reinforced steel gate simply said “The Zoo” in a half moon arch. They ran through the gate that was quickly closed behind them which led to another that automatically opened and shut as they passed. He huddled behind a rocky outcropping alongside Mike, Alex, and two other volunteers, Sergeant Reyes leading the small squad.

Serpent-like shadows flickered in the distance – Skravak scouts, their chitinous exoskeletons catching the dying light. Sergeant Reyes, a grizzled veteran with a thick hispanic accent, issued his orders in a low murmur.

“Remember your training,” he said. “Stay focused, stay sharp. You hesitate, you die. Let’s send these Skravak scumbags back to whatever slimy hole they crawled out of.”

With a hand signal, he started to maneuver . Wade’s heart hammered against his ribs as he followed, the sand crunching under his boots. The adrenaline coursing through him drowned out the fear, replacing it with a focused intensity.

They reached the crest of a dune and the full horror of the situation unfolded before them. A swarm of Skravak drones, clicking and chittering with primal savagery, surged towards the perimeter fence, their mandibles snapping with anticipation.

Sergeant Reyes opened fire, the blue energy bolts exploding in a shower of sparks against the drones’ carapaces. Wade followed suit, unleashing a volley from his pulse rifle. The weapon roared in his hands, the recoil throwing him back momentarily.

Chaos erupted as the firefight raged. The harsh crackle of pulse rifle fire mingled with the screech of dying drones. The air thick with the acrid stench of burnt chitin. Wade moved like a machine he barely understood, firing, reloading, taking cover, following Sergeant Reyes’ barked commands.

He saw Mike roll to the side moments before a drone’s mandibles snapped where his head had been a second ago. He saw Alex take down two drones with a single, swift motion honed from their hours of training that had turned into muscle memory.

Adrenaline masked the pain when a drone managed to bypass his defenses, its leg scraping across Wade’s arm, leaving a burning gash. But he barely registered it, his focus solely on eliminating the alien threat.

The firefight continued, a brutal ballet of death under the twin suns. Finally, with a collective groan, the last drone lay motionless on the sand. Sergeant Reyes surveyed the scene with intense satisfaction etched on his face. The Sergeant marched his squad back through the gates, with the entire company on their feet in the bleachers, cheering and whistling. Even the DIs had smirks of pride on their faces. It was just a training exercise but the cost of failure would have been the same as the real thing.

“Good job recruits,” Sergeant Reyes grunted, his voice hoarse. “But this is just a taste of what’s waiting for you out there. Get yourselves patched up and report back to the barracks. Dismissed.”

Wade slumped against the rocky outcrop, his body shaking in protest. His arm throbbed from the Skravak’s scrape, and his ears buzzed with the lingering echoes of gunfire. Mike and Alex joined him, their faces pale but their eyes alive with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. Corpsmen attended their wounds.

“That was…” Mike started, his voice trembling slightly.

“Crazy,” Alex finished, his voice low.

Wade managed a weak nod. He still had adrenaline coursing through his veins. But one thing was clear – they had survived their first taste of combat, forged in “The Zoo.” It was as real as it gets in a training environment.

They helped each other back to the barracks, a silent understanding passing between them. The camaraderie that had been simmering had solidified into something stronger – a brotherhood forged in the face of death.

Back at the barracks, the company lined the street, shouting encouragement and giving high fives. Hathras, his face unusually grim, barked orders at corpsmen to look at Wade’s wound again. He looked at the trio with an intensity that could have bore right through them. “Don’t let all this go to your head recruits. The drones are easy. You don’t want to get too excited about killing little puppies.” The reality of the Skravak threat hit Wade with renewed force. Casualties, even minor ones like his scrape, represented lives lost, gaps in the already thin ranks of the Rangers.

Later that night, huddled on their bunks, the events of the firefight replayed in Wade’s mind. He could still smell the burning chitin, hear the screech of dying drones. But amidst the fear, there was a surge of pride – a sense of accomplishment. They had faced a terrifying adversary and emerged victorious.

“Hey, Wade?” Mike’s voice, heavy with fatigue but laced with concern, broke the silence.

Wade forced a smile. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Did you know that was a training exercise when we deployed into “The Zoo?”

“I had no clue bro. I guess I had so much adrenaline flowing I was just focused on doing the right thing.” Wade sheepishly admitted.

Mike admitted, “Me too man, I had no idea!”

Alex, uncharacteristically talkative, chimed in. “Dudes! You didn’t see the sniper towers all around us? And the company. They were forming in the bleachers to watch the whole thing go down. The only thing missing was the popcorn. What‘s bugging me is how far they would have let it go before they stepped in. That gash on your arm is no joke!”

An uneasy silence settled between them, a shared satisfaction and pride filling the space between words. They were no longer just bunkmates or recruits. They were survivors, warriors who had stared into the abyss and emerged on the other side. And as they drifted off to sleep, exhaustion took them to that place of utter dreamlessness.

But that wasn’t the last they would see of the live fire range with a real enemy trying to put them in the morgue.

Disaster Strikes

In the tense air of the observation room, the platoon crowded near the monitors, their gazes glued to the scene. In the concrete mockup of an office building, Private Mike Jansen and Private Hayden Briggs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, faces etched with a mix of resolve and fear. The cameras recorded their every move from several different angles for the observers.

Staff Sergeant Hathras, a gruff counterpoint to the recruits’ trepidation, barked orders. “Briggs, you’re point. Prep the plasma grenade. Jansen, clear the room after him.”

Briggs gulped, his grip tightening on the grenade. His eyes darted to the observation room, where his fellow recruits watched in suspense.

Jansen, ever the rock, offered a steadying hand on Briggs’ shoulder. “Breathe, Marine. Remember the training. Just act, don’t think.”

Briggs nodded, his movements robotic as he armed the grenade. The low hum of the plasma core sent chills down his spine, a stark reminder of the explosive power he wielded.

Hathras’ signal sent Briggs forward, arm cocked to launch the grenade through the doorway. But nerves seized him. The grenade arced pathetically, bouncing off the doorframe and rolling back with a menacing clatter.

Time seemed to distort as Hathras reacted instantly. He shoved Briggs aside. He turned to grab Jansen, yet the younger Marine took an unthinkable step.

With a primal yell, Jansen hurled himself at the rolling grenade, shielding it with his body just before detonation. The blast slammed him against the concrete wall, engulfing him in a blinding flash.

Silence reigned, broken only by the sizzle of dying energy and the muffled gasps from the observation room where the company watched the tragedy unfold. Briggs, his face pale, scrambled to his feet and froze with anticipation waiting for Mike to emerge from the smoke-filled room.

“Jansen! Mike! Can you hear me?”

A weak cough and groan came from the other side of the room. Through the haze Briggs could see Staff Sergeant Hathras kneeling beside Mike, blood oozing from his mouth, nose, and ears. His face was half charred and his armor was scorched and mangled.

Hathras had a mix of fury and grudging respect etched on his face. “What were you thinking Jansen!? That was…” Hathras’ voice cracked and trailed off with pity and awe at the young Marines’ bravery. Mike died in the Sergeant’s arms.

Wade watched in horror on the viewing monitors and tried to exit the observation room to get to Mike. Gunnery Sergeant Harris caught him by the collar. “Easy Marine! You can’t do anything for him now. Let the corpsmen do their job.” She had seen this play out in actual combat too many times to be surprised or harsh with the young Marine’s friend. It would take some strong leadership, empathy, and firmness to get Wade to focus.

Honoring the Fallen

The camp chapel was hushed, a solemn air hanging like a shroud over the gathered Marine recruits. At the front, bathed in the glow of soft lights, rested a soldier’s tribute – polished combat boots, firmly planted, with a rifle upended and dog tags hung from the pistol grip. It was a striking memorial to Private Mike Jansen, whose ultimate sacrifice had shaken them all.

Wade stared hollowly at the display, his eyes tracing the deep grooves in the rifle’s barrel. So many memories echoed through that cold steel – their training, their struggles, their bond forged in blood and sweat. Beside him, Alex’s jaw was locked tight, his eyes glinting with unshed tears.

Chaplain Jesse Bronson stepped forward, his worn features carved by years of the spiritual discipline of following Christ amidst the brutal theaters of war. His voice carried a gentle strength as he addressed the solemn assembly.

“We’re here today to honor the life and sacrifice of Private Michael Jansen,” Bronson intoned. “A warrior whose courage in the face of death preserved his brothers-in-arms. His selfless act will echo through the ages as a shining example of the highest ideals we uphold as Marines.”

Bronson’s gaze swept over the gathered recruits and DIs, seeming to lock eyes with each of them in turn. “Yet even as we exalt Mike’s heroism, we must confront the darker truths that follow this tragedy. The burden of guilt, of self-doubt, of questioning one’s actions that cost a life – these are weights many of you will carry.”

Wade felt those words like a physical blow. The sharp pang of grief mingled with recrimination – if only he had been there, if only he could have done something. Beside him, Briggs shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense.

“To you marines who must bear this cross,” Bronson continued, “I say this – you must find the strength to forgive each other and yourselves. Regret is natural, even necessary to learn from past mistakes. But it cannot be allowed to consume you, to diminish the sacrifices made.”

The Chaplain’s voice took on an edge of weathered experience. “I have seen too many good men and women crumble beneath the weight of their own guilt, tormented by things outside their control. Do not follow that path. Honor your fallen brother by living without that burden.”

Bronson turned his intent gaze towards Alex and Wade. Though he did not mention the obvious friendship the trio had forged, his next words carried an unmistakable target and weight.

“Part of that healing process requires an open heart – to yourselves, and to each other. We are family, bound by codes as enduring as the bond between sisters and brothers. When we stray, when we falter or make mistakes that cost lives, we must have the courage to forgive. Not just for our own sake, but for the unit, for the mission.”

A heavy pause underscored the solemn truth of the Chaplain’s words. Briggs could feel the weight of unresolved tensions, see the subtly pained expression on Alex and Wade’s face.

“That is the greatest tribute we can pay Mike Jansen,” Bronson proclaimed. “To emerge from this tragedy stronger, wiser, and more unified in our devotion to each other and our cause. His sacrifice will be rendered meaningless if it splinters us from within.”

With that, the Chaplain stepped back, allowing a hush to fall over the proceedings. After a somber moment, a lone Drill Instructor raised his voice in a mournful roll call;

“Private Henderson!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Tillman!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Brown!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Jansen!”

Silence was the only reply. The call echoed;.

“Private Jansen!”

Still silence.

“”Private Michael, Hunter, Jansen.”

As the final words rang out, there was a long pause of silence. Then a lone bugler began playing the solemn, melancholy notes of Taps. The mournful tune seemed to reach into Wade’s soul, amplifying the gut-wrenching sorrow and loss. Tears streamed freely down his face as the poignant farewell filled the chapel.

When the last note finally faded, the heavy silence stretched eternal. Wade felt unmoored, adrift in a torrent of emotions. He struggled to reconcile the Chaplain’s words on forgiveness with the cocktail of grief and anger raging inside him after Mike’s death, finding it difficult to let go of the raw anguish in order to honor his fallen brother.

As the Marine recruits filed out in hushed contemplation, Wade resolved to seek out Alex. Together, they would share the burdens weighing them down and remember their friend by pressing on. He could not say with any confidence how he would engage Briggs, let alone forgive him.

New Comrade and New Challenges

The barracks felt eerily empty without Mike’s presence. Wade stared at the vacant bunk, a hollow ache settling in his chest. Beside him, Alex’s shoulders were slumped, his usual stoic demeanor cracked by grief.

A soft sniffle broke the silence. They turned to see Briggs seated on the bunk across the aisle, his face buried in his hands as quiet sobs wracked his body. Remorse and guilt poured off him in waves. He had been transferred into their platoon immediately after the incident. The chain of command had seen this scenario play out too many times to keep these men apart. They would be forced to work through their grief together or tear one another apart trying.

Wade felt a flicker of anger, a knee-jerk reaction to assign blame for their loss. But the Chaplain’s words echoed clear in his mind – “We must have the courage to forgive. Not just for our own sake, but for the unit, for the mission.”

Steeling himself, Wade crossed the aisle and settled onto the bunk beside Briggs. He placed a steadying hand on the other Marine’s shoulder.

“We all make mistakes, Briggs,” Wade said, his voice thick but even. “Mike knew the risks. He did what he thought was right to protect his brothers.”

Briggs lifted his head, eyes rimmed red and glistening with tears. “I…I can’t stop seeing it happen. Over and over. If I had just…manned up and threw it…I failed him. After the way I treated him…all of you…I should have been the one…I deserve…”

“You can’t change the past,” Alex rumbled, joining them on the bunk. “Learn from this Bro. Let this make you stronger.”

They sat in somber silence for a long moment. Finally, Wade spoke, his voice wavering but resolute.

“Chaplain Bronson was right. We’ve got to let this forge us tighter, not split us apart.” He met Briggs’ gaze, naked regret and determination burning in his eyes.

“I…I want to be there for you two. Like Mike was for you guys. For all of us! If you’ll have me. I want to make this right.” Briggs growled with remorse and resolve.

Wade felt his throat tighten with a surge of emotion. In that moment, the rift between them mended, their bond transcending the tragedy that had birthed it. He clasped Briggs’ shoulder with a firm grip.

“We’re with you, brother,” he said simply. “To the end.”

Back to Chapel

The following Sunday, Briggs made an unexpected suggestion as they prepared for the day’s grueling training regimen.

“I think we should attend chapel service,” he said quietly. “For Mike.”

Wade and Alex exchanged a glance, surprised but nodding in silent agreement. The memory of their fallen friend still burned.

The chapel was sparsely populated, the congregation was comprised mostly of recruits and a few DIs. As Chaplain Bronson took the podium, his words carried over the members with characteristic strength, wisdom, and comfort.

“Today, we take the path of discipleship,” Bronson said, his voice resonant yet gentle. “The journey of following in the footsteps of one greater than ourselves. To follow the example of Jesus, the Messiah. He modeled a life of loving God, loving people, and teaching others to do the same. He expected us to take up the torch of sacrifice, even into the darkest seasons of life. I know your feelings are still raw from your fellow Marine’s death but we must acknowledge that he was following the very steps of his Savior. Mike was a disciple of Jesus.”

Wade felt those words resonate deep within him. A powerful truth, made visceral by Mike’s ultimate sacrifice.

“It is a calling that asks us to turn our gaze inward,” Bronson continued. “To confront our frailties, our doubts, our propensity to stray from the path. Yet it also demands we fix our eyes on Jesus and exercise the faith for the journey ahead. To become like Jesus. The Scriptures say, ‘The one who says he abides in Him ought himself to walk in the same manner as He walked.”

As the sermon continued, Wade felt a clarity washing over him. The grief still lingered, the loss of Mike an aching void. But it was tempered by a renewed sense of purpose, a dedication to honoring his friend’s selfless act by embodying the ideals of discipleship in his own life.

When the service concluded, Wade felt as though a weight had lifted. Briggs seemed similarly buoyed, his shoulders straightening slightly as the three made their way back to the barracks.

“Thanks for coming with me, guys,” he said, his voice sincere. “I…I needed that.”

Alex responded with a simple nod, his expression unreadable yet carrying a hint of understanding. In that moment, their shared burdens seemed a degree lighter.

The Gates of Hell

The weeks blurred into months in an endless cycle of training, discipline, and hardship. The brutal landscape of Carthis 7 had forged them from raw recruits into hardened warriors. Fear transformed into a steely resolve, their bodies and minds honed by relentless instruction into living weapons.

Yet even as their skills sharpened, their camaraderie only deepened. The bond between Wade, Alex, and Briggs solidified into an enduring brotherhood, transcending the tragedies that had birthed it. What had begun as a shared anguish elevated into a rallying force, a determination to honor Mike’s sacrifice by emerging from the crucible as God-forged warriors of unbreakable spirit.

One morning, as they gathered with the company for their usual briefing, a sense of electric anticipation hung thick in the air. Gunnery Sergeant Harris strode to the front, her usual inscrutable expression betraying the faintest flicker of pride.

“Recruits,” she barked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “The hour is upon us. You have endured the fires of training, surrendered blood, sweat and tears to master your crafts. Now…now we put that dedication to the ultimate test.”

A murmur rippled through the ranks as Harris paused for effect. Wade exchanged a sidelong glance with Briggs and Torres, feeling the weight of those words settle onto his shoulders.

“This is not another drill, not another walk in the park,” Harris continued. “This is a live fire exercise – you will return to “The Zoo” for a final rite of passage designed to evaluate your readiness for the battlefields beyond Carthis 7. Consider this a preview of the Inferno that awaits you on the front lines.”

A collective hush fell over the company as the implications sank in. This was it – the culmination of everything they had endured. The forging of Marines from the raw materials of their former lives.

“For the next seven days,” Harris growled, “you’ll experience a rotating series of combat scenarios testing your tactical abilities, teamwork under fire, and personal perseverance. Basic supplies only – water, rations, medi-kits, ammo, and your weapon. The rest is up to you.”

The company buzzed with nervous energy.

“Until now, you’ve only glimpsed the smallest section of The Zoo – those initial training skirmishes were merely an amuse-bouche to whet your appetite for the true savagery awaiting you.

“The Zoo” is actually a hundred square miles of fenced-in aggression, complete with captured Skravak hunters and drones. The terrain shifts from barren deserts to rubble-strewn urban battlegrounds. It’s a manmade replica of the war-torn colonies you’ll be deployed to soon enough”

Sergeant Reyes continued the briefing grimly, his calloused features instilled confidence in the recruits. “This is it, Marines. This is where the Rangehounds are separated from the pups. For the next seven days, you are at war.”

Wade could feel the tension thrumming, the fidgeting and undercurrent of fear from his squadmates. Torres’ jaw was locked tight, his eyes narrowed to slits. Briggs kept running his thumb over the receiver of his rifle, a nervous tic betraying his inner turmoil.

“The rules are simple,” Reyes growled. “There are no safety catches here, no snipers in overwatch towers. Your rifle and K-bar are live – meaning you are cleared to go hot. In other words, engage any Skravak scum with lethal force.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered Marines. Wade’s heart pounded in his throat. This was no scripted scenario – this was the closest approximation of true combat they would face until their boots hit the soil of an embattled colony world.

“Make no mistake,” Reyes continued, “while the Skravak drones some of you faced before were aggressively lethal, they don’t hold a candle to the Skravak hunters you’ll engage in The Zoo. They don’t carry weapons, but they are still formidable killers. They are hungry and will literally eat you alive. Underestimate them at your peril.”

He let that sobering warning hang in the air for a moment before driving the final point home.

“You will start as squad sized elements. The last four days will be on your own, solo survival! We are well aware of the inherent risks, but we will make no allowances for cowardice. If any Marine recruit calls for an emergency evacuation for any reason…your days in the Ranger pipeline are over. You’ll be reassigned to the grunt pool as a Marine Regular. We’ve whittled the company down to fifty percent of you maggots already. “The Zoo” will take her twenty percent of flesh off the top of that.”

Wade felt his jaw clench at those words, the challenge ringing loud and clear. There would be no tapping out, no safety net. Once they passed through those gates into “The Zoo’s” hunting grounds, they would be committed until their evaluation was complete or they succumbed to the evils within.

Gunnery Sergeant Harris swept an intense gaze over the company, seeming to bore into Wade’s soul with a final proclamation.

“Prove you have what it takes to earn your way to being a Marine and a shot at the next phase of becoming a Ranger. Or don’t come back at all.”

As the briefing concluded and the company dispersed to begin preparations, the gravity of the situation settled over Wade, Alex, and Briggs. This would be the ultimate trial – their initiation into the brotherhood of combat-tested Marines.

Wade felt the weight of responsibility descend onto his shoulders. So much had led to this moment – the tribulations, the loss, the soul-forging anguish that had recast their destinies. He would not fail, could not fail. Not just for himself, but for Mike.

Briggs seemed to sense Wade’s turmoil, punching him in the shoulder as they moved to gather their equipment.

“We’ve got this, brother,” the former tormentor said, his voice laced with a subtle pride. “We got this!”

Alex’s face was covered with a menacing grin. “Yeah, we do! For Mike!

Wade and Briggs responded in stereo, “For Mike!”

They turned to face the gates of “The Zoo” where their ultimate rite of passage awaited. Whatever torment Carthis 7 threw at them, they would emerge from the crucible reborn – ready for the next phase of training on their way to becoming Deep Space Rangers.